It feels wonderful to slide under the covers, in spite of their unfamiliar smell. She buries her nose in her old teddy bear, feeling safe in the familiar scent of his fur. It smells like home.

Although she is exhausted, Stephie cannot fall asleep. She lies awake for ages, listening to the patter of the rain on the roof. She’s never heard the rain so clearly from indoors before. A while later she tiptoes from the bed to look out the window. It’s pitch black outside. Not so much as a streetlight.

“When you’re twelve you’ll have a bedroom of your own,” her parents used to tell her when they were still living in their apartment. In those days she looked forward to not having to share the nursery with Nellie. Now she is twelve and has a room of her own. But in the wrong house. In the wrong country.

Finally her body begins to feel heavy. Stephie climbs back into bed and begins drifting off. She’s nearly asleep when the door opens just a crack. Eyes closed, she hears footsteps approaching her bed. Lightly, as if in a dream, a hand brushes her cheek. A moment later, the door shuts again.

six

Stephie senses something is wrong even before her brain is awake enough to remember what. She presses her eyes tight shut, trying to stay asleep. But she can’t.

Sunlight trickles through the crack between the curtains. She can hear footsteps and clatter from the kitchen. It’s morning, her first morning on the island. The first of how many?

“Six months at the very most,” her father had said on the platform at the Vienna railway station. “In just a few months, no more than six, we’ll have our entry visas. Then we’ll meet up in Amsterdam and travel to America together.”

Stephie turns her head to look at the photos on the dresser. Her mother is smiling, her father is looking gravely at her from behind his glasses. She sits up in bed, pulling her knees to her chest.